


Insignis

by endgirl



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Biting, F/F, Feelings, Hickeys, Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endgirl/pseuds/endgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cara has discovered new and exciting ways to express feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insignis

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [seeker_kinkmeme](http://seeker-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/) for the prompt _Cara/Kahlan, biting, marking_.

Kahlan jerks into Cara’s hand, her hips slamming between the touch she needs and the wooden inn wall against which Cara has her pinned. A mewling sound escapes the back of her throat as gloved fingers increase their rhythm against her sex, pressing and stroking until she rises up on her toes, limbs taut, and throws her head back against the wall. Only then does Cara slip inside of her, thickened fingers forcing her open in the way she yearns for, the way that leaves no doubt as to whom she belongs -- as if there were ever any room for question. And despite the Mord-Sith’s feral grin and darkened eyes, Kahlan knows her furious thrusts search only for what she is too afraid to seek with her words.  
  
She gives herself to Cara with a screech of completion she might worry would wake the tavern, if she had room in her swimming mind for such cares. Instead she melts against the planks behind her and into the firm leather arm that holds her upright as she recovers. She has grown indiscreet in her sounds of ecstasy in the months since Richard departed for D’Hara. Among the many things she learned about the Mord-Sith as they traveled, she discovered that while Cara would never dare make a peep while the Confessor touches her, she quakes with satisfaction whenever Kahlan cries out. Long ago she decided she could make enough noise for the both of them.  
  
She knows it is a vulnerability, in Cara’s mind, to show when she is coming undone. Another weakness that was trained out of her at an age too appalling for Kahlan to imagine, in a temple where blood and power were the only currency. As she steps away from the wall, pressing her lips to the side of Cara’s mouth, she forces the thought from her mind. Cara sighs in smug contentment and catches Kahlan’s wandering lips in a kiss that drips with triumph. Even all these years later -- even though it’s just the two of them, alone in a bedroom lit by oil lamps and candles -- Cara has not forsaken the desire to win.  
  
But Kahlan is unfazed. She snakes her arm between their chests, pushing Cara away with her fingertips pressed into the bare skin above her breasts. Kahlan smiles, even as Cara frowns in unspoken complaint. She has become an eager player in this game.  
  
“Leathers,” she says, pointedly eyeing the offending garments that still cover her lover’s skin.  
  
Cara shoots her a beleaguered look, but Kahlan will brook no argument. The Mord-Sith purses her lips and peels her uniform from her body piece by piece, torturously slowly, until Kahlan begins nearly to pant with anticipation.  
  
When their affair first began, Cara had insisted, absurdly, that the Confessor should never expect to see her bared. That fucking Kahlan was her only interest in this. It took all of six days for her to change Cara’s mind, gentle hands pushing the uniform from her shoulders, and to glimpse the beauty that hid beneath. Still, it was only in the past several weeks that Kahlan could count on welcoming  _Cara_  to their bed each night, whether beneath a pine or in a rented room, instead of the proud and impenetrable Mord-Sith.  
  
As the last bit of leather falls from Cara’s flushed skin, Kahlan lunges for her prey. Cara steps backwards to avoid pitching over onto the floor, and they land in a pile on the overstuffed mattress. They struggle for a moment, a tangled frenzy of lips and hands, but Kahlan is determined. She rises over Cara, pressing her into the furs with a bruising kiss. When she pulls away for air, the woman beneath her grins wolfishly, and she feels the telltale muscle twitches of Cara preparing to flip their positions.  
  
But Kahlan is no longer a blushing virgin at the mercy of her lover’s whims. She is practiced in this battle of wills, and she wipes the smile from the Mord-Sith’s face with three nimble fingers between her thighs.  
  
Cara’s brow tightens over her eyes as Kahlan slides easily into her heat, thrusting as hard as she dares. She makes no sound as her muscles throb around the hand inside her body, as her fingers tangle in the hair at the base of Kahlan’s skull and in the silken fur coverings beneath her hips.  
  
Kahlan falls down on one elbow to press wet, nipping kisses along the side of Cara’s neck. As she begins to shudder against the mattress, Cara responds in kind, pulling Kahlan’s flesh between her teeth where neck meets soft shoulder. Kahlan moans at the pain that blossoms at each bite and at the soothing tongue that follows it, and fresh wetness pools between her legs. She tilts her neck to offer more as Cara’s body rolls desperately up into her own.  
  
It took Kahlan only slightly longer to understand this than it did to decipher the silence. The first time Cara climaxed from her attentions, pinned against the bark of an ancient red oak, Kahlan had jumped in surprise when teeth clamped down on her shoulder. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly -- it felt almost good, in a way, like a foreign and deliciously aching pressure -- but it startled her. She assumed it was some mysterious practice of the Mord-Sith, some aspect of the sadism and power games she had neglected to study as a young woman in the Wizard’s Keep, and which Cara had slipped into out of habit.  
  
But soon Kahlan began to doubt her assessment. It doesn’t  _hurt_  when Cara bites her, not really, and sometimes the Mord-Sith only sucks at her skin as she comes. And always, always she laves Kahlan’s reddening flesh with her tongue and a sprinkling of soft kisses. She began to realize that this is Cara’s way of crying out -- of confessing her feelings, of whispering  _you’re mine_ , of screaming  _please please Kahlan more_. She may not be able to make a sound, but she can do this. She can show Kahlan how much she feels, how ferociously she feels it. And she can tell the whole world without saying a word.  
  
The movement of Cara’s hips beneath her becomes more erratic with each thrust, filling the small room with the wooden clap of the bed against the wall. When the thudding of the wood becomes a constant vibration, Kahlan drags the nails of her free hand down Cara’s tanned ribs and around the curve that leads to her shaking thigh. She digs red lines into the skin, for she knows the Mord-Sith likes to be marked nearly as much as she likes to do the marking. The scrape of her fingernails murmurs her response:  _you are mine, too, and I love you_.  
  
Cara’s breath escapes in short silent huffs, which Kahlan feels as they rise and fall under her own pounding chest. She curls her fingers and grinds down with the palm of her hand, until Cara bites down at her release, hard enough to make Kahlan gasp with the exquisite pleasure-pain she has come to crave.  
  
One by one, Cara’s muscles slacken beneath her as she withdraws her hand, still sticky slick, and she collapses into the mattress at the Mord-Sith’s side. As Cara’s breathing slows, one hand still tangled in dark hair, Kahlan paints the wetness on her fingertips over the fading red lines on her lover’s thigh. She wishes they would stay for longer.  
  
Finally Cara catches the wandering fingers in her own, takes their tips between her lips, and brings them to rest between her breasts. They lie together in quiet contentment, Kahlan’s head on Cara’s shoulder, until the candle on the roughly hewn nightstand is burned nearly to a nub. Rising up on her elbow, Kahlan reaches across Cara to light another candle from the first’s dwindling wick. As she pulls back from the table, she catches a glimpse of herself, all tousled hair and swollen lips, in the square mirror that hangs slanted on the wall.  
  
With curiosity and a warm jolt of anticipation, she pushes the waves of hair from her shoulder to reveal the crimson oval forming at the base of her neck, blood still pulsing beneath the surface. She glances down to find Cara staring, too, at this latest addition to the small darkening marks that have been speckled over Kahlan’s collarbone on other nights, at other inns.  
  
It has been weeks since she bothered to act bashful at the sight of her handiwork, and her green eyes sparkle as she reaches up to trace the edges of the new and suspiciously Cara-shaped adornment. Kahlan bats her hand away in feigned indignation, but the truth is that seeing Cara’s marks -- and the way the Mord-Sith eyes them, torn between protective concern and devilish delight -- makes her center pulse with pleasure.  
  
Kahlan sighs dramatically to cover the smile that pulls at the corner of her lips. “I am wearing a cloak tomorrow.”  
  
But Cara only grins at their reflection. They both know she won’t.


End file.
